In Time
by Nikoru-chan
Summary: Birthday Gift ficlet; when the world is threatened with chaos, destruction, and invasion who will save the day? And what's Torchwood going to do about that? DCU/DR Who crossover. Kinda. C C greatly appreciated.


Snippet

For MP. Happy Birthday.

Disclaimer: You know the deal. I don't own any of them.

Note: This ficlet was written as a birthday present for a friend of mine. When asked what she wanted, the response ran something along the lines of "I don't want much, really, just the Doctor, Captain Jack, the JLA, Timmy's Teen Titans, Mass Destruction of a Planetary Scale (threatened or actual), and maybe a bit of inter-series snogging."

Unfortunately, I happen to be vastly better at Mass Destruction than inter-series snogging.

Which isn't saying all that much.

Note 2: SPOILER ALERT!!! Well, there aren't really any DC spoilers as this is strictly non-canon. In terms of Doctor Who, there are plot spoilers for the Season 2 finale. There are plot-device spoilers for Season 3 . . .oh, let's call it from 'Family of Blood' onwards. There are dialogue spoilers for season 1 last two episodes. But keep in mind this is a very AU version of DW – for one thing, there are heroes clad in spandex cavorting around. Fairly confident there are no Torchwood spoilers as I've yet to see an episode. Oh, heck, just call it alt-verse for both series. That way I can play.

They stood, battered, in what was left of Titan's Tower. The remnants of the Titans, the dregs of the JLA, a few straggling Outsiders. In this world of the Multiverse, such heroes were of limited supply to begin with.

The attack had come without warning, as was so often the case with interplanetary invasions, but not without meticulous forethought. This earth, like its inter-dimensional neighbors, had seen more than a few such efforts in its time, though rarely to this degree of casual ferocity. Certainly, it was a common enough happenstance for the planetary populace to have a standard for comparison. Said standard told them that they were in more vastly more trouble than ever before.

Once again, the epicenter was over London. But the general consensus, amid the grim black humour that passed for human interaction since the attack, was that the Americans probably weren't feeling as left out as last time; the ravaging forces of the invaders had spread rapidly across oceans and continents, sparing nowhere.

Superman was crippled; trapped on board the invader's monstrous floating superbase, he had been sequestered in a cage of virulent green kryptonite that ate at his vitality with every passing minute. His screams had stopped hours earlier, a small mercy for those remaining in the battered building half a world away. It was not that they'd never heard wails, or even supersonic shrieks. Black Canary could scream like that.

But not across continents.

And not without drawing breath.

Martian Manhunter had fared barely better; locked in psychosis in the Medbay, he was as unreachable as the super-powered alter-egos of the now-voiceless Batsons. And about as much use to the grim-faced vigilante contemplating his living assets.

Nightwing, Arsenal, Batgirl and Robin fleshed out his human companions. Grace, Wondergirl, Raven and Beastboy made up the remaining metas. Cyborg and a powered-down Green Lantern fell somewhere in between.

Standing, his back turned to the round table that dominated the briefing room in Titan's Tower, Batman was unmoved; his emotions locked down, his squires and their teams battered but not beaten. There was a way around this alien threat, some means of triumph, an eleventh hour save that would free humankind and salvage the earth for another day.

There always was.

Even if all information seemed to indicate that the invaders had arrived via a highly modified and advanced technological variation on a Boom Tube.

They had come from Apokalypse. No, that wasn't right, Batman considered the information from Barda's terse, short, spying report. Not _from_ Apokalypse. _Via_ Apokalypse.

After conquering it.

And now, apparently in the process of razing the hellish planet, they were looking for something on earth. _Fresh resources? Unlikely; the reports indicated that the strip-mining of Apokalypse that they're undertaking will take months, even with the unbelievably advanced technological capacities they've demonstrated._

Perhaps, then, not minerals or slaves. Not energy or foodstuffs. _Perhaps something specific. But what?_ Unbidden, he wondered what would happen if such an apparently invincible force found whatever it was they sought.

_Nothing good._

It was then that a number of representatives of the Torchwood Institute chose to make their not particularly dramatic entrance. Under his cowl, Batman gritted his teeth.

Their leader wasn't – quite – swaggering.

But he certainly moved with more confidence than the situation warranted. Batman frowned slightly, the expression masked by the play of light and dark across his covered face. He disliked the shadowy organization at the best of times. He tolerated it because it was British-based, tolerated it because it exceptionally good at what it did. He tolerated it because he had to.

But he'd made sure Torchwood largely stayed out of North America, and most particularly Gotham. Having contacts in Checkmate had to be good for something.

Truth be told, he rather doubted he could have kept it out, had not its leaders and field agents been persistently occupied with other alien threats. Besides, they were sensible enough not to want to tangle with the Kryptonian or the Martian, and both had elected to reside on the American continent. Batman studiously ignored the uneasy question of whether the two metas had chosen the USA precisely for its lack of Torchwood, rather than the reverse. But either of the pair would easily class as the most powerful aliens on the planet.

A moot point at the moment, though from their decisive actions it appeared that the invaders had thought the same, in moving to neutralise the twosome so decisively.

Either that or they had decided to use the pair as examples after they so casually swatted aside the bipartisan frontal attack the two had launched.

Most powerful indeed. Batman's musings were interrupted by the cessation of the light, almost playful steps. Torchwood, it seemed, had come to parlay. _The enemy of my enemy_. . . at this point he'd even make a deal with R'as Al Ghul, if he had to. Torchwood was certainly the lesser of two evils. With a purely internal sigh, Batman turned to face them.

Their leader was a man Batman recognized from his files as one Captain Jack Harkness. The records of him on the Crays were sketchy, and too under-filled to leave Batman confident that the depth and breadth of the data covered much if any significant information about the man.

Intense discipline allowed him to mask both surprise and ire as the leader of the Torchwood team brushed past him without a glance. An incongruously broad, roguish grin splitting his handsome features as his eyes alighted on his apparent target, Harkness appeared to ignore everyone else in the room. Batman noted, however, that the rest of the Torchwood team, casually taking up strategic positions, did not.

When the Captain spoke, his broadly British accent was laced with genuine warmth, audible to the entire room though plainly focused on only the one individual.

"You know, for the most powerful alien on the planet, you sure don't make yourself easy to find," he said with an abundance of charm.

To a flabbergasted Robin.

Oh, he hid it well. A slight tensing of the line of his jaw was the only hint of the Boy Wonder's surprise, but to his mentor it may as well have been a shout of confusion.

"You appear to be misinformed," Robin said quietly.

"Yeah," piped up Wondergirl, "Robin's human. Totally."

"Of course he is," Harkness affirmed cheerily. "It took a lot of hard work and pain to get him that way. His hard work and pain, that is, not mine." He turned back to the other teen, his smile softening, "I've missed you."

"You've never met me."

"Oh, but I have. I have." He looked the teen up and down, "You've grown . . . different, though. The last I saw you, you were a human baby and your pet legionary and Janet were taking you off to go raise you. Loyal creatures, those centurions. His entire legion destroyed by a chance encounter with the Daleks, you swan in to save the day – or at least the standard bearer – and he becomes yours. Totally and utterly. You know, Janet even convinced him to modernize his name when we landed in the late 20th century so as too better protect you. But he kept the Standard. Wouldn't hear of giving it up."

Robin continued to stare at him impassively, but both Nightwing and Batman noted the increasing tension in his shoulders. _Dad . . . Dad did have the standard of the lost Ninth. I always thought it was because he'd found it on a dig. He himself hinted it was because he was custodian of it for a secret society. But this guy seems convinced it was because he toted it around himself! My dad, a legionnaire. . ._ The thought seemed mind-boggling, and yet. . .

"I always wondered where he stashed it. Fort Knox? Nah, too passé. Swiss bank vault?"

"Hall closet, actually." Tim said in a pleasantly conversational voice, and then startled. He hadn't meant to let that slip. And the voice, the manner of speaking, seemed somehow not his own. Or else very much his own.

"Close." Harkness' grin broadened. "Good old Jaxonius Drakus. A straightforward man." His expression sobered then. "I'll miss him, too. I was sorry to hear of his death, as sorry as for Janet's. What a waste."

He straightened. "But Janet's at least was not in vain. The Obeah Man had exactly what we thought he had, the thief. But he couldn't use it. Janet gave it to me as she died, and Jaxonius kept you. So you were both safe." Turning, he eyed the room.

"A fine group of friends you've built for yourself. A few who would be excellent traveling companions. Many who would not – you always did have a habit of finding those who would chart the course of history."

"What do you want?" Batman, having decided the arrogant agent's soliloquy had gone on long enough, ground out the question. The assertions he was making were insane. Tim was human. Completely human; he hurt, he bled, he grew and as he grew he became more and more brilliant. He didn't fly, or run at the speed of sound – he was pure human without even a meta gene. And his parents! His father Jack had been an archaeologist, not a soldier, and certainly twenty centuries too young to be a legionary. Janet had been a socialite. Tough, brilliant and insightful, true, but human. A competent, if divided, mother; one who seemed to have never expected to find herself in that role.

"You're quite right. We're under a bit of time pressure." He turned back to Robin, and tapped his watch meaningfully. It was a rather unusual piece – rather like something masquerading as a typical wrist-mounted timepiece than an actual wrist watch per se. "I can't un-fix what you did to it. Didn't want me roaming around, going to the same time and place twice."

"The second time to apologise!" Robin bantered, again looking startled an instant afterwards. He didn't know this man! How could he converse so easily with him?

"See? You're starting to remember. And I haven't even given you your presents." He rummaged in his coat pocket, obviously looking for something. Nightwing moved forward with lightning rapidity. His little brother was obviously confused, and unable to react appropriately right now. The man could be going for a gun and at this rate Robin would still be standing there, passively waiting to be shot when he finally drew it!

The narrow, pen-like cylinder Harkness pulled out was indeed metal, but not a gun. It skittered to the floor as Nightwing body-tackled him to the ground. Both Torchwood and the rest of the heroes moved in to settle the apparent brawl, while the object rolled to a stop at Robin's feet.

There was no brawl. Harkness didn't struggle. He shot a cocky smile up at the scowling vigilante on top of him, "Well, hello there."

"Stop it." Robin spoke forcefully, but with a trace of affection. "Harkness, behave yourself."

"I was only . . ." His voice trailed off as Robin glared at him, but it was clear his glee was rising. "You do remember." Cautiously, Nightwing let him up. Batman growled a stand-down to the other heroes, while a now-upright Harkness waved his own troops aside.

In front of him, Robin appeared enraptured by the device he held. He knew what it was. He knew it intimately. The curve, the way it fit in his hand. . . He knew how to use it.

It was . . . It was . . . "a sonic screwdriver," Captain Jack supplied, watching the boy closely. "Your sonic screwdriver," he added.

"And now, at the risk of another rather delightful tackle, maybe from the redhead this time. . ."

"Stop it." Robin growled a playful warning.

"I was only going to . . ."

"Stop it!"

"Fine. Here's the other half of your 'present'." Magically, an old fashioned fob watch appeared in his hand. Arsenal, indeed preparing himself for his own attempt at taking down the brash loudmouth, hadn't even seen him move. _That jerk! He wanted to get jumped by Nightwing! What is he doing? Is he trying to start an inter-team squabble?! At this time, with invaders hanging over London – just what is he playing at?_

But in front of him, the Torchwood officer seemed reluctant to hand over the watch. Robin, on the other hand, seemed utterly mesmerized by it.

"That watch. . . what . . .there's something. . ."

Suddenly serious, Harkness began speaking. "Thing is, I need to say I'm sorry. I need you to open it, I need you to be you. But things will change as soon as you do. This you, the 'Tim' you. . ."

Quietly, as soon as he was certain the other was listening, he handed over the watch. Robin stood there, turning it over in his hands. As he stepped back, Harkness continued to speak. "We didn't plan it like this, you and I. After 'last time', what ever that was, you said you'd do it differently. Rather than just 'hiding' for a few years, you were going to start brand new and grow into yourself. So that no one would be hurt when you discarded your human self, because it would still be your mind, just back in its proper setting and with a few extra bits of knowledge. I don't know what happened to make you say that, and Janet never would tell me." Harkness took a deep breath.

"I wasn't supposed to give you this until you were thirty two. That's when you'd have intellectually become yourself again. You're not even quite half way there yet age-wise, and your mind's gotten side-tracked by this 'hero' business." He grinned ruefully, "Jaxonius and I should have expected that, actually. No matter what age, no matter what species you are, you've just got to save the day, don't you?"

Behind him, Batman grasped just what the Torchwood man was saying.

"I need you to open that, to become yourself. I need you, not Robin, but you. The terrifying, universe-skipping traveler. The eccentric, frightening inventor. The one who has saved, and destroyed, entire worlds. I need you to save us all. I need you, we all do. Not Robin, but the Doctor."

"Robin! Don't! What he's asking – it's suicide!" Batman yelled, springing into action, racing for his protégé.

His path was suddenly blocked by a Torchwood contingent. Desperately, he began to fight. Spurred by his cry, the other heroes around him joined the conflict, raging a desperate battle against the purely human – but exquisitely armed – British group. The two sides each appeared to be holding their own as in the eye of the storm, two still figures continued to converse.

"He may be right," Jack said with uncharacteristic seriousness. "None of this was meant to happen yet. The invaders – the Geelanh – weren't meant to find a trace of you for another seventeen years. You told me they weren't even going to try for Apokalyps for centuries, and heaven only knows how they found earth from there, but they know that you're here and they're looking for you." He drew a breath. "It's like something changed. Like something punched the wall of reality to shake it up a bit. And now, this has happened."

In front of him, Robin stood uncharacteristically still, his only movement his breathing, and the rapid turning of the watch over and over in his hands. . . flick . . .flick . . . flick. . . It was still shut. _I know how they found earth. They tracked me, my scent, from Apokalyps. I went there with Young Justice. I lead them right here. All the death, all the destruction . . . my fault!_

"So if I open it, I'll die. I'll be subsumed by whatever it is that is hiding in there. This thing that created me in the first place." By sheer effort of will, Robin kept his voice steady. _All my fault. Everything._

"Yes. No. I don't know. That's how it's supposed to work. But because this time you converted yourself to a baby human, rather than just a straight cell-for-cell swap, I don't know. You didn't know either, when you did it, but you wanted to try." _And you screamed a lot_.

"And this being, this thing inside the watch, it's helpless unless it's inside me."

"Pretty much. It's the other part of you. The things that make you, well . . . not human, but you."

"And this 'other part'? It can save the world?"

"You've done it before."

_So much slaughter and devastation. So much misery. And a chance to turn it around, or at least salvage what is left. How can I do anything less? _He glanced across to his mentor and big brother, both fighting desperately to reach him, both yelling, begging him to stop, to wait._ I couldn't help my dad, I couldn't spare Steph. I couldn't resurrect Connor._

_How can I not take the chance that I can save you both?_

"I'm so sorry," he said softly to them, knowing that they'd never hear over the noise. Knowing that they wouldn't need to.

Robin opened the watch.

The golden light that emanated from the watch face bathed him from top to toe, illuminating the room with its glow.

His screaming silenced the yells and clangs of battle. Then, abruptly, the light cut out and the screaming stopped. The sudden quiet was broken by the dull ring of a fob watch tumbling from numbed fingers to the metal floor.

Summersaulting forward, Nightwing shoved Harkness to the side, catching his little brother as he slumped forward.

"Oh, no. No, please. . ." Sobbing, he cradled the still form close.

Behind him, the monitor crackled to life. Horned and metallic, the twisted features of a Geelanh filled the screen. His attention diverted from the plateau in front of him, Harkness turned to face the alien.

"So. Finally we get conversation and not just a rain of missiles."

"You are the Time-Frozen one. You will speak for this planet."

"I will?"

"You have the Gallifreyan. His scent just became stronger . . .intoxicating. You have removed him from his hiding place."

"What is it you want?"

"Give us the Gallifreyan. Now."

"You know, normally you're supposed to offer something in return. That's part of the whole meaning of the term 'negotiations'."

"There will be no discussion. We will have him before he returns to full strength."

"You should leave, you know. Now."

"You cannot make us."

"Says you."

"You have no bargaining power."

"Hey, I resent that! We're not bargaining, we're negotiating."

"You have no galactic allies. You have no interplanetary resources. Your so-called 'most powerful' alien residents are at our mercy. You have no weapons capable of defeating us, and few that can even damage our warships. All you have is one Gallifreyan who is so weakened he chose to hide from us, and now he can't even do that."

"Yeah," came a voice from behind Harkness' shoulder, "and doesn't that just scare you to bits."

Turning, Harkness could help but grin. Standing there, in all his black-caped splendor, was the source of their contention. Oh, Tim Drake and Robin could be seen in the figure; his features, then flashes of movement, a certain tilt of the head. But the one standing there was both that and yet even more complete. He was as he should be. All he should be, and more.

He was the Doctor.

And looking at him, the Geelanh leader got the slight, sinking feeling that maybe, just maybe, he'd bitten off a good deal more than he could chew.

END.

Bwahahahahahahaha! That was fun! Apologies for the lack of snogging.

As always, C C warmly invited.

Notes:

Janet – I've taken the liberty of making Tim's mother one of the Doctor's companions. I'm sure they had plenty of fun adventures before they ran into the Geelanh and the Doctor decided he had to hide out as a human again to discourage the wannabe conquerors.

Jaxonius Drakus – Jackson Drake. Tim's dad did indeed have the lost legion's standard in the hall cupboard. It's canon, promise (can't cite the issue number off the top of my head, though, I'm afraid). I just couldn't resist playing with this one, given the fic's circumstances. But I drew the line at trying to find a proper Roman name for him, the closest I could get made it pretty hard to pick that it was him, so I went for the 'meh. Cop out' version. But seriously, can you think of a better way to bring a 'been there, done that' aspect to archaeology than having actually lived the period? Snicker.

The Geelanh – poorly fleshed out, purely fictional. Not actual Doctor Who villains. Not actual DC villains. Just needed some intergalactic conquerors I could mess with.

Various dialogue snippets – as I said, this fic was written as a birthday present. Part of the deal was for the recipient to have the fun of playing 'pick the dialogue source.' So various parts are from the Doctor Who series. I leave it up to you to figure out which is borrowed, and which is me just having a grand old time writing dialogue for some of my favourite rogues.

The fob watch thing – go watch 'The Sound of Drums' story arc. No, really. Now every time I hear Rogue Traders I think of Gallifreyan watches and world conquest.

The 'Time Frozen' thing – Go watch end of season 1 and then end of season 2. And, if you're Ra's Al Ghul, eat your heart out.

Why the Doctor did his turning-human thing in a manner that involved neonates rather than just his current physical age – See the 'Family of Blood' story arc. I don't think he wanted to do that again. It's one thing to get a bit emotional about a failed love affair, it's quite another to mercilessly arrange for eternal torment for the creatures to blame.


End file.
